Middle Earth Miniatures
by cuthalion
Summary: A (hopefully) growing collection of short pieces I wrote during the last months, taking up interesting plot bunnies, answering requests or simply trying to please a friend.
1. Home

These **Middle Earth Miniatures** are some pieces that were originally published in my Live Journal, tickled by interesting Plot bunnies or as a gift for authors and friends. There are only six so far, but I simply wanted to share them.

**Home **(for shirebound)  
_(At the Green Dragon, movieverse, Post-Quest)_

They are sitting at the table as if they had never left the Shire. And strangely enough it seems as if they were still gone... they are so quiet, their faces so pale, so changed.

He lifted his head, one moment before. I have seen his quick glance at me. Now I see how he nods, as if he gave answer to an unspoken question from Mr. Frodo beside him.

He takes a long gulp of his beer and gets up; his body tightens. Then he comes over to me.

"Hullo Rosie."

I see the unbelievable mixture of fear and hope in his eyes._ And love. So much love._

"Hullo Sam."

At least_ he_ really came home. _Home to me._


	2. My Sons for Gondor

**My Sons for Gondor** (for _Mary Borsellino_)  
(Minas Tirith, March 11th, 3019)

She stood in the door this morning... my daughter-in-law, widow of my eldest, her face numb with shock.

"They're marching to Osgiliath, mother."

She cries beside me, but I can't. My heart is empty and cold. I have given my husband for Gondor, and he fell in Harad. My eldest died in Ithilien, same as my second one, slain by orcs.

And now I see them riding down the street, the hoofs clattering aloud in the deadly silence. Flowers are falling on the ground as if thrown into an open grave.

_Two dead sons. _

And there goes the third one.


	3. Thirteen years

**Thirteen years** (for my husband)

The kitchen is filled with the sweet smell of scones, still warm from the oven, and raisin tartes. She is standing at the window; a moment ago she had already opened her mouth to call him in, but now she stays still and silent, watching him in the garden. He kneels beside the freshly planted flower bed, his hair shining in the pale morning sun, and his hands lie on the young saplings with a tenderness and care that fills her heart with a sudden joy.

Thirteen years of shared days and cherished nights, his heartbeat beneath her ear, fast and strong when he gifts her with the strength of his body and the sweet rush of his love... slow and steady when he sleeps beside her, the reliable rhythm of her life. She has seen him holding each of their children for the first time, his eyes full of tears, speechless in his unbelieving rejoice. Elanor, Frodo, Rose, Merry, Pippin, Goldilocks, Hamfast and Daisy, their names like a song of praise for the bliss he has been for her from the moment on when they tied their lifes together.

He is one of the great heroes of Middle Earth. He saved Mr. Frodo and brought him home again, and without him their beloved Master could never have sailed to those Undying Lands. He has healed the Shire with the same care and tenderness he has given to her and to their family. She is his home, his anchor and his soul... she knows it and he has always been eager to tell her how he feels, with simple words, but she treasures them more than any elvish poetry, for they are coming from the bottom of his heart. He is hers, her strength, her joy, _her husband._

She opens the window.

"Sam? Sam! Breakfast is ready! I have scones and raisin tartes for you!"

He raises his head and she can see his eyes, lightening up at the thought of her kitchen delights. She smiles, closes the window and gazes over the well prepared breakfast table.

Not to forget - he is very fond of her cooking.


	4. Hands of a Fool

**Hands of a fool** (for _rabidsamfan_)  
(November 3019, Bag End)

The floor is covered with heaps of garbage, and someone has smeared words on the wall, words I can't read. Not that I really want to. They look ugly, and I'm pretty sure they read ugly as well.

I nearly didn't dare to walk into the study, and when I did I was more than thankful that we took all of Mr. Frodo's books to Crickhollow – even though we knew he would never read them there.

Under the badly scratched desk, hidden between the folds of the ruined carpet, lay a book we must have forgotten. Pages were missing, and those who remained were covered with ink blotches and nasty doodles, as if coming from the hands of a foolish child.

He has suffered so much I couldn't prevent. But this I can. I will keep him from seeing this, I will burn it as soon as I have cleaned the fireplace in the parlor and managed a proper fire.

I wouldn't be able to bear the look in his eyes.


	5. To keep you from harm

**To keep you from harm **(for _rabidsamfan)  
_(Minas Tirith, June 3018)You want to go desperately. I can see it in your eyes.

You started dreaming the night before we lost the bridge. I woke near dawn and heard your voice, murmuring and moaning, and I leaned over you and touched your bandaged shoulder – a little too hard, obviously, for you winced and rocketed up, staring at me with unseeing eyes.

"Boromir…?"

"You had a dream, little brother. Must have been a bad one."

Your gaze cleared and you leaned back on your good arm, your face pale and confused in the dim light.

"Not really." you said slowly. "Only strange… I don't understand it."

"What happened?"

I had to ask. I am the only one who does in our family. Father doesn't want to hear of your dreams. The last one you dared to mention made him angry for days. Not angry with me, of course. It's always you. _Always._

And as always, you told me. You told me of the darkened sky in the East and the faint light in the West, and of the clear voice from afar. You recited the poem, rhyme after rhyme. You've always had the head for poetry, keeping the most complicated ballads and songs in your mind without any effort, while I sat in our study, watching the open window and waiting desperately to go to my next swordfight lesson with Melendor. Our tutor was desperate too, the poor man. But he was more than happy to educate _you. _

Then dawn came, and the attack, and there was no time to think of dreams. I remember how we crawled out of the water, gasping in the smoky air, blind and deaf from the cries of that terrible creature bringing despair and grief to the ruins of what had once been the crown of Gondor. We lost the bridge, but the foe was forestalled by the river. We had time to go home, to report.

And now you want to go. You asked Father to let you leave, but he refused. I could have told you before. And I have never loved you more but for the sudden stubbornness in your eyes when he turned away, and for the second attempt to get his permission, rewarded with a cold gaze and a slammed door.

I love him, little brother. And I love you.

I don't want you to get lost in this undertaking. We don't even know exactly where this_ Imladris_ can be found. Hundreds of miles between Minas Tirith and a place sprung up from a dream and from the legends you enjoy to read so much.

How many times now have you dreamed of the darkened sky and the faint light? I know you will tell me the dream again if I ask, and more than once. I'm the only one to listen since Mithrandir has gone.

I will do my best to remember every word and every line of that strange poem.

_For Isildur's Bane shall waken,  
and the Halfling forth shall stand._

What is _Isildur's Bane?_ And what in the name of all kings is a _Halfling?_

Anyway, I don't care. I will go instead of you. Father will let me leave, and I will find out what all this is about, while you stay here. I have friends in Rohan, and Father will need your knowledge of Ithilien.

Perhaps he will finally see your value when he does not have to look past me. Perhaps he will see the light in your eyes, and the deep love you have for him. I can see it. I know how much you try to please him.

I love him, little brother. But sometimes – only sometimes – I hate him for not loving you.


	6. Different

**Different** (for_ rabidsamfan_)  
(Minas Tirith, around 2995)

First he thought it was the eyes.

The White Wizard's eyes were black as obsidian, ignoring him as if he were invisible... or worse, someone unworthy of consideration, not important enough to speak to, a child, a _nothing. _

The boy watched his father giving their noble visitor access to the library; he saw the tall figure bow with supple elegance and heard the polite words of esteem, spoken with a wonderful voice, deep, rich and smooth like dark honey.

"My other son." the Steward said. The wizard's gaze merely touched him before he went out with a careless sweep of his flawlessly white robe. The boy remained between the high pillars, his knees inexplicably weak, his mouth dry. He dashed out into the courtyard and reached the fountain, filling his mouth with clear, cold water. He felt as if he had escaped a fatal menace.

It was more than a year later when he met the other one, and it was close to the fountain that he heard him for the first time… a shrill whistling, drilling into his ear and making him turn around in surprise.

The robe of the old man was grey and crinkled, his cloak blue, the hem soaked with dirt from a long ride. When the boy stepped close, hesitatingly and still a little astonished, the stranger crouched before him and he gazed into twinkling eyes under heavy brows, filled with a mischievous grin.

"You did not guess, did you, that a sound so loud could come from a man so old?" he said, and the boy gave him a shy smile. "Tell me, can you whistle, too?"

The boy couldn't and he felt ashamed, but then he raised his chin and spoke with his high, clear voice.

"No." he answered. „But I know the names of all kings since Isildur came from Numenor and ascended the throne of Gondor."

"Oh, really?" the old man answered. "Tell me."

_"Elendil, Isildur, Anárion…_" the boy began,_ "Meneldil, Cemendur, Earendil…"_ And he numerated the ancient rulers of the glorious kingdom his father governed, the sonorous syllables of their names rolling over his tongue while the sun sank deeper and the fountain sprayed liquid gold over the dead trunk of the White Tree.

At last he reached _Earnur _and grew silent.

"Very good, child." the stranger said, his voice a deep, friendly rumble. "I am really impressed. What do you think… shall I now show you how to whistle?"

"Oh… _would _you?!"

Not the eyes alone made the difference, the boy decided later when he had found out the astonishing fact that this was another wizard.

Their hearts were different, too.


	7. Respect

This was written for a "First-Line-Challenge" between the fanfiction writers on my friends list in LJ. The first line is from _Lindelea. _

**Respect**

The day that the ruffians hauled Lobelia Sackville-Baggins off to the Lockholes is a day that will live long in infamy.

Rosie Cotton stood under one of the few remaining trees beside the new mill when they passed her by; two Men, obscenely big compared to the small angry figure they held between them... undignifiedly lifting her up like a child when her short steps made her too slow for the crude impatience of her guards.

Rosie stood stock still, blinking away the tears, her heart - surprisingly enough - filled with true respect for that old woman with her evil gab.


	8. Farewell

The second drabble (nearly) for the "First-Line-Challenge" between the fanfiction writers on my friends list in LJ. The first line is again from _Lindelea (_and a very_ long _first line, to be honest...).

**Farewell**

After the Fairbairns had properly greeted Samwise, taking from him his soaking cloak, showing him to the best chair in the parlour, propping his feet before the fire and giving him a cup of tea fixed to his taste (after each grandchild had taken a turn bestowing a hug and a kiss, of course), the whole family settled down about him, the littlest ones on the hearthrug, the biggest ones scattered about on chairs, with little Rose on the footstool at her grandfather's feet, playing with the snowy curls atop his toes.

His gaze was an embrace, but there was something sad and determined in his eyes. He took a deep breath, then he spoke into the silence.

"Tomorrow I'll be leaving for the Havens," he said.


End file.
